


Shyness is Nice

by shocked_into_shame



Category: The Smiths
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/shocked_into_shame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny and Moz, already in a strange relationship, are forced to share beds when the hotel makes a mistake in their booking. Moz is not pleased. Johnny has to shut him up.<br/>[Originally Posted on Tumblr]</p><p>Update: You can now read a Russian translation of this fic here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/4169884<br/>Thank you for translating, tospeakisasin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shyness is Nice

 Morrissey is having an absolute temper tantrum. He's sitting on a rickety wooden chair in the hotel lobby, his head resting against the wall behind him. There's this expression on his face, the expression that children make when they don't get what they want. And he's constantly complaining- hasn't stopped complaining, in fact, since they entered the small hotel.

And all because the hotel made a tiny mistake with their rooms.

Well, maybe not a tiny mistake.

Perhaps a gigantic mistake, actually, if you think about it from Morrissey's point of view.

The hotel messed up their room arrangements. Each of the band members was meant to have their own small room. Instead, however, there were only 2 rooms booked, and, because of the demand for hotel rooms was high in the midst of the Smiths arriving, there were no more rooms to be had. This, of course, wouldn't be such a big deal if each room had two beds; however, they were both queen suites, which meant that they would each have to share a bed.

This upsets Morrissey greatly, and he doesn't hesitate in voicing this, whining, “I can't share a bed. I just can't.”

If Moz were any other person, Johnny would feel kind of offended. He and the singer had almost been dating for the month. Of course, since this was Morrissey he was sort of going out with, they didn't do much; occasionally, in moments of excitement, Morrissey would hold his hand. Sometimes, they would cuddle up on the rehearsal space couch during their breaks, whispering and laughing to each other. On rare occasions, they would share chaste kisses, kisses that left Moz blushing and smiling despite their innocent nature.

Because it's Morrissey, Johnny understands that the fight against sharing a bed shouldn't be taken personally. It's obvious to Johnny that the quiffed man is uncomfortable with actions of affection and intimacy, and is highly inexperienced in them.

Mike and Andy had already gone to their bedroom, unable to handle Moz in their exhaustion. That left Johnny alone to convince Morrissey to leave his place in the lobby (where he had been residing for nearly 10 minutes) and just go to bed already.

“Cmon, Moz, please,” Johnny sighs, exasperated and longing to get in bed. “I don't expect you to do anything with me, okay? I don't really know what this is between us but I won't pressure you into anything. I care about you, Moz, maybe too much and I...I just... I'm really tired, and I want to go to bed, but I don't want to leave you here alone. So, please, for me, just come to the room with me.”

To his surprise, a strange look of contemplation passes Morrissey's face for a second, before he gets up, intertwines his hand with Johnny's, and begins to walk to their hotel room.

_Thank fucking God._

 

Once they have both showered and gotten into their pajamas, they situate themselves in bed together. To Johnny's surprise, Morrissey doesn't mind cuddling in bed with him. It's surprisingly nice, as Morrissey has his arms wrapped around Johnny's slightly smaller frame. Johnny's head is resting in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and he can hear the singer's heartbeat, which makes his own heart beat a little faster.

“This is nice,” Johnny whispers, careful not to destroy the moment.

A small smile passes Morrissey's lips, and he closes his eyes in relaxation. “I agree.”

Johnny is kind of confused, however. After all that whining, all of that complaining, why was it so easy to get in bed alongside Morrissey, to snuggle in close with him? “Why did you...” the younger man starts, “why did you oppose this so much?”

Morrissey tenses up, and Johnny instantly regrets asking. So much for a relaxing night, Johnny thinks. Surprisingly, however, he slowly loses the tension in his body, and begins lightly tracing patterns on Johnny's bare arm with his fingertips, obviously thinking about Johnny's question. The two sit in silence for some time before Morrissey whispers, “I don't know.”

 

Moz wakes with a start, a slight gasp escaping his lips as he is shaken out of his... _pleasant_ dream. Sure enough, a certain part of his anatomy seems to be thoroughly enjoying being pressed closely up against Johnny. The singer can only pray that Johnny is fast asleep, because, if he isn't, there is no way he could miss the straining erection pressed against him.

A slight chuckle escapes the lips of the man in question, as he places a small kiss on the side of Moz's neck. “I can feel that, you know.”

Moz is unbelievably embarrassed, and he is sure that his cheeks are burning red. He doesn't quite know how to respond, can't tell whether or not Johnny is angry about his little problem.

“Do you want me to...” Johnny trails off, laying a longer, lingering kiss on Moz's neck. A shudder passes through the singer's body. “Do you want me to take care of that for you?”

Morrissey's eyes widen and he, somehow, gets even harder at the sound of that. This is so very unlike him. He hasn't felt aroused like this since he was a teenager, and, even then, there was no one there to suggest helping him with his... issues. No one else has ever touched him, and he felt that it would stay that way... But, with Johnny laying beside him, now peppering kisses, one after another, up his neck and to his jawline, and offering to do very, very intimate things... Well.

“Has anyone ever touched you before?” Johnny asks quietly, half-knowing the answer already.

“No... I've never...” Morrissey can't continue, far too embarrassed to speak.

“Relax. Let me take care of you.”

A hand begins to trail down Morrissey's t-shirt clad chest, stopping to lightly touch his nipples through the fabric. Moz lets out a whimper, his nipples hardening despite the warm temperature of the room. Johnny's hand reaches Morrissey's hips, dipping under his shirt and leaving teasing little strokes along the skin just above his waistband.

Moz breath is coming out in little pants, and he is straining against the jersey of his sweatpants, which is slightly embarrassing. He can't help but react like this, though. He's never felt like this before; every nerve ending is on fire at the moment, and his arms are covered in goosebumps, even though Johnny hasn't actually _done_ anything yet.

Morrissey braces himself for Johnny's hand to travel lower, but that doesn't happen. Instead, Johnny shifts, scooting himself down the bed until his head is near his hip, and he's pressing little kisses on Moz's hipbone. He looks up, almost shyly, and whispers, “Is this okay?”

Morrissey is nodding before he can even really register what Johnny is about to do. Quickly his trousers are pulled down, and warm, wet heat engulfs the head of his cock.

The sound that comes out of his mouth is almost inhuman.

“Holy... Johnny what are you doing? That can't be...” another moan escapes him, “that can't be sanitary.”

Johnny pulls away with a lewd pop, grinning up at Morrissey, who is currently flushed, pupils blown wide in arousal. “Just let me do this for you. Lie back and enjoy it.”

Morrissey does so, and lies there, gasping and moaning and tossing his head back and forth as Johnny continues his ministrations with his mouth. He's completely unaware that Johnny is touching himself, getting extreme pleasure out of hearing such lewd sounds pouring from Morrissey's lips. A shy hand reaches down and threads itself into Johnny's hair, making the guitarist moan slightly around the cock in his mouth.

Which is, embarrassingly, all it takes to have Morrissey throwing his head back and keening like he's dying, coming in small bursts into Johnny's mouth. The sound of it and the feel of Morrissey coming is too much for Johnny, the combination leading him to release in his hand, whimpering as he does so. Morrissey doesn't even really notice, as he is far too gone to really notice anything; his vision is completely whited out and there are tiny tremors running all along his spine. He feels as though something in him has been broken, and now he is boneless, floating in midair. Its a surprisingly wonderful experience.

Johnny leaves the bed quickly, much to Morrissey's chagrin, to wash his hands and take a few sips of water. He comes back and cuddles up to his boyfriend (yes, definitely boyfriend now). Morrissey smiles and places an innocent, close-mouthed kiss to Johnny's lips before pulling away and closing his eyes, already drifting back to sleep.

That is, until, Johnny starts laughing uncontrollably and asks, rather loudly, “What, I can have your dick in my mouth but you still can't kiss me with tongue?”

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Застенчивость — это хорошо (перевод Shyness is nice)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120112) by [Aquabelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquabelle/pseuds/Aquabelle)




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